Tweed-side.
Waat beauties does Flora disclose?
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed!
Yet Mary’s still sweeter than those,
Where nature doth fancy exceed.
No daisy nor sweet-blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those.
Such beauty and pleasure doth yield.
The warblers are heard in the grove ;
The linnet the lark, and the thrush,
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove,
With music enchant every bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead,
Let’s see how the primroses spring,
We'd lodge in some village on Tweed,
And love, while the feather'd folk sing
How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly stray,
While happily she lies asleep?
Tweed’s murmurs should lull her to rest ;
Kind nature indulging my bliss—
To ease the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an embrosial kiss.
'Tis she does the virgins excel,
No beauty with her may compare;
Love’s graces around her do dwell;
She’s the fairest where thousands are fair.
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed?
Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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